


only time

by wailing_whale



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Chance Meetings, M/M, Poetry, i literally wrote a free-verse poem about johndave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wailing_whale/pseuds/wailing_whale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wanted to try my hand at poetry, and gave it a shot with Dave and John meeting, meeting, remeeting in their youth and never actually knowing each other until much later on. So this is what that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	only time

**Author's Note:**

> This admittedly isn't sensational by any means, and I hardly edited the thing at all and I doubt I ever will now, but it was a lot of fun to work on while I was at the beach! Let me know if it's awful?

 

these are the stories of what-if's, maybe so's,

saved for a later date, time will only show.

these are the stories of hope-addled hearts

loneliness drenched minds

This is a love story.

 

 

alone, tick tock, alone alone alone

the clock is an enemy

it is his only friend

in-laws be forgotten, his breakfast table only has room for

two

_Dining alone again, tonight?_

 

 

first encounter

                              of the alien kind

is in his 23rd year

he has such a pleasant telephone voice, silk and feathers, sheets drawn back

he is the illusion of hot laundry and his skin aches

his call is spiked with laughter,

making fun, popular man

_is your refrigerator running?_

Click.

 

he has the habit of frowning while he walks

music stuffed into ears to drench his desert body with

something

_let me feel something i never could on my own_

he scowls and he stalks, heavy soled,

heavier soul,

on the way to and from the graveyard

This is a story about death, too.

And _he_ is there, always, the curse that was never cast

the fishing line that was never tossed out

he is handing out pamphlets, he is a volunteer

he is left in the dust

and tries not to feel the sting of a very

cold shoulder

 

 

they bump together endlessly, marbles tossed about on the playground

its unclear whos playground it is they lay in

but they play all the same

words are never exchanged, neither are smiles

he hasnt a name to pin to a

face that he cant remember either

they are given endless chances and still

no one moves

this is stalemate

this is reality

this is life

 

 

he lingers, he wavers, he is an apparition

he is not entirely sure his footprints are real

_do you do delivery?_

His hangnails catch on the worn sheets of his bed

and doesnt dine alone all the time

His story is also one about isolation.

he is an island,

a palm tree,

he shimmers in the heat of the sidewalk, a mirage

auto pilot leads him

 

 

he picks up a roll of film and calls it

                                                    art

_follow what you love, hun. paper or plastic?_

slowly, the world comes into focus, his

trigger finger no longer numb

but the rest of him is.

hes not sure what that means

hes certain it can be fixed with advil

its a medicated treatment

for a non medical problem

 

 

finding his shadow again was impossible

even if he was never searching

he thinks maybe a map would have made things easier

_one last picture, big smile from the couple_

wedding pictures

usually make him feel the kind of happiness that he cant find

on his own

hes confused when he feels different this time

he'll stare at the collection long after its sent for printing

                                                            cold sunken in his gut

 

 

what is this thing?

this pretty work called love

he wonders if he can catch it

                                               maybe theres a flu shot for it

his lips are dry and he doesnt understand

there is a lot he no longer understands

the fabric on his shoelaces is coming unravelled

cans of soup, empty and on the counter, clutter clutter clutter

his bank receipt tells him he has room to be

                                                                  free

_sir. you've been here at this atm for ten minutes._

_do you need assistance?_

he feels a spark of rebellion while he loiters

stick it to the man, kid

 

 

time passes, like usual

tick tock, tick

his body's clock is amiss

he buys himself a pair of new cool shoes

they dont light up as he walks and for once

he wished they did

he buys a new wallet, too

a place for precious belongings

there is no cash inside, no ID, no cards that hold imaginary credit

                                                                            there is one photo

it is glossed, creased paper, splotchy from wet

_wouldnt you prefer to dine inside? its raining_

he keeps it like a talisman, he becomes its slave

he sits on the sinks edge and holds up the

smiling wedding day

This is a story about what-ifs

he thinks, and This is a story about things that wont

ever happen

                                                      he drops the paper

                                                      and watches the toilet flush

 

 

letting go of something he never felt is not possible

his eyes ache with red

his bones are thin, pockmarked

disorientation sets in

maybe he is dying

maybe no one would care if he did

maybe

maybe

                                                  it may be

when did his blankets become quicksand?

why are his feet welded to the floor

how?

This is not a pretty story.

 

 

the camera is retired but he is not

washed up they call it

                                             beached,

                                             bleached whale

his ribs stick up from the sand and become skyscrapers

carcass and blurred out, no focus

only the sky can he see

he throws stones into the ocean and they do not cause a

splash

_splish splash, fast bath, you'll make the whole room wet_

knock knock, whos there, when did my brother stop fighting?

when he died

brother, really, is that what he was?

was he not a myth

wasnt he a figurine

plasticine

constantly being toyed around with

to suit his needs

_if he's not real_

_then neither am i_

 

 

this is an ugly story, we know.

you know, i know.

one person doesnt know

its the man in the twelfth row of the movie theatre

alone, fingers slicked with butter

wedding band so loose on his hand it might just

slip off

_sorry, its not mine_

he would never wear a ring so gaudy

he would never want to get married

who would ever want to get married?

he gets out of the theatre and

drives

not into the sunset, not into the end

he goes east, east,

the way to the coast

the way to the freedom

the one that his bank account also told him about

what is freedom, really?

is it stability

or the lack of it

does he know what he truly wants?

                                                  no one does

 

 

they bump, they crash, someone has a fender bender

he glares, his freedom is ruined

but _he_ stares

both of their freedoms are becoming so

tangled

_sorry, you just look like someone i used to know_

had he ever even known him?

that scruffy kid who wanted photos for his wedding,

had he ever even known his name

did it ever even matter?

 

 

they talk, they talk, they grow to know

same college? same year? same same same?

they bicker, they poke, they become old ladies there

he buys him a coffee

does it matter which _him_ it is?

the bumped fender is just as easily

forgotten

_he_ knows its too soon for another love

and _he_ knows its too late for any love at all

they were never in the habit of respecting their brain's opinions

_i feel like ive known you all my life_

_or at least,_

_that ive been looking for just as long as that_

 

 

what if, what if,

maybe this could be

maybe, maybe, please just let it be

their choice is undecided now,

their path is just their own

the past is never over yet

but the futures clearly shown

and only time,

can ever show

 


End file.
